


Blinded By The Lights.

by psyleedee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Cigarettes, Deepthroating, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Sex, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Foreplay, Fuckbuddies, Fucked-Up Characters, Gay Sex, Gentle Sex, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Inspired by Music, Jealous Dean Winchester, Kissing, Light Toxic Behaviours, Love, M/M, Marking, Naked Cuddling, Needy Castiel (Supernatural), No Strings Attached, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rough Sex, Sad Lives, Shameless Smut., Smut, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26906800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyleedee/pseuds/psyleedee
Summary: "Dean," Castiel says, his voice a sharp needle in the balloon of silence enveloping them. Jealousy, annoyance, pity, hatred— every single vile feeling inside Dean rises up in his throat, as he stares at Castiel's gorgeous face, still glowing, even when the man seems like he's going to fall flat on his face."What do you want?" Dean asks, malice and disgust in his voice."I need you.""Oh, now you do?" Dean laughs, a cynical, emotionless laugh as he walks into his apartment, grabbing a bottle of water for Castiel, "-why, that guy you hangin' out with this evening not good enough?"
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 37
Kudos: 153
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	Blinded By The Lights.

**Author's Note:**

> so yes im late to the party but when I heard Blinding Lights I was hit with inspo right away so enjoy some angsty porn :))  
> (also there are slight hints of their relationship being toxic and being complicated so im going to leave their history up to your imagination)  
> (also if anyone remembers my other fic based on a The Weeknd song you get a brownie :P)

It's half past two in the morning. The city is awake—wide awake— with its red and blue lights glimmering, the neon billboards standing tall and bright in all their glory. The scent of spices and smoke courses through the alleyway outside Dean's apartment, a cold, lingering chill in the air as a gust of breeze flows in through the open window on the wall across Dean. The room is pitch-black dark. The only sound resounds from the almost-broken air conditioning, which whirrs every five minutes. Lying in bed, Dean feels numb.

It shouldn't hurt as much as it does.

What were they after all?

Friends? Out of question. They were more. Lovers? Out of question. They were less.

A couple of dumbass-es would be more appropriate to describe them.

Somehow, in the past year, they'd managed to teeter on the edge between friendship and something more. And then there had been the touches. Chaste at first. Brushing of their hands when they sat, brushing of their thighs, bumping of their shoulders, nudging of their foots. And then there had been the glances. The stares. The looks. Curious at first, and then hungry. Teasing, coy, needy glances. And then the touches evolved. No longer chaste, no longer accidental. Prolonged strokes of their hands over each other's thighs, chests, backs– knuckles grazing over their jaws, fingers lingering upon each other's. And then came the kisses. Brief, testing at first. Stolen in the corners of the restaurants and bars they visited with their friends, stolen in the back of an Uber, stolen in the alleyway under Dean's apartment, stolen and forbidden. And soon enough, as their want grew, so did their touches, so did their kisses.

Moments of passion and heat, nights spent in the throes of intimacy, sweaty bodies grinding against each other, swollen pink lips never parting, hands beating against the bedsheets, clenching and squeezing the fabric, legs spread, hair damp, moans filling the air, their mingled cologne and musk, heartbeats loud and thrumming, pulses quickened, breaths and gasps echoing off the thin walls, a deep, gravelly, hoarse voice urging Dean to _stay_ , the odour of cigarette smoke as they rest in each other's arms, basking in the high of their climaxes.

But that's all they'd been. Nothing more.

With his phone toying between his fingers, Dean feels a memory pulling him in, and to make up for the lack of _his_ touch of Dean's body, Dean allows the memory to consume him.

_'I can't do this, Dean, I'm sorry.'_

_'What do you mean?'_

_'This. Us. I don't see how any of this benefits my future. I need to take a break. I can't keep pretending like sex is all I need. I need love. I need comfort. You can't give me that, can you?'_

_'I—'_

_'That's what I expected. Don't call me again. Let this go. You'll find someone who needs what you need. But that's not me.'_

The slam of a door, and then _he's_ gone, leaving Dean to swallow down his guilt and his misery, leaving Dean to skip work and spend the day drowning in alcohol and peanuts in a two-cent bar in some filthy, downtown corner, pretending the beating in his chest is of a stone, not his heart; pretending he hasn't lost the only thing he cared for, like he lost every other god-damn thing he has ever cared for.

And then he just had to bump into _him_. On the street. With another man. Laughing, talking, glowing. They'd been close, Dean recalls, with the man's hands wrapped all around _him_ , and with _him_ leaning into the man. They'd seemed happy. Much more than Dean could ever be.

 _He_ deserved this.

Castiel deserved this.

He deserved to be courted, to be spoiled, to be smothered with affection, not treated like some whore from the side of the street.

And Dean couldn't do that. He failed Castiel. Just like he failed everyone and everything else.

Numb and cold, Dean reaches for his phone. Scrolling through his Instagram, he finds himself clicking on Castiel's profile, only a few images on his feed, and surfs though the tagged, where he finds, as expected, a picture of the man Castiel had been out with that evening, and he taps on it. Castiel looks gorgeous, even with layers of clothes on his body, much to Dean's dismay; he looks radiant. His eyes squeezed shut, his fingers held up in a peace sign, and his body leaning into the man's. A caption underneath it reads **Had a great time today with @angelbee.**

Loser. Who even posts a picture of the first date on social media.

Dean laughs to himself, willing away the tears in his eyes as he flings his phone away, and it bounces of the bed, onto the floor.

As if on cue, the buzzer to his apartment rings, and he groans. He is in no shape, physical or mental, to get up and walk to the door. Whoever has work can come to him later. He presses a pillow over his head, and tries to ignore his curiosity as to who would be at his door at two-thirty AM in the morning on a cold Saturday night.

The buzzer rings again. And again. And again.

Dean groans, and throws the pillow away from himself, and steps off his bed, not bothering to grab a shirt on his way out as he walks over to the front door, already practicing the string of curse words he wants to use on the face he'll see before him, and swings the door open—

_Castiel._

Eyes wide and lips parted, Dean finds himself gaping at the sight of Castiel before him, disheveled, his black hair a fuzzy mess, eyes drooping and body swaying as he stares up at Dean.

"Cas," Dean whispers, the tears in his eyes welling once again, but he can't bear to see Castiel for a minute, reminded grimly of the words Castiel had said to him a few days ago. He steps back, unsteady on his feet, as Castiel steps forward.

"Dean," Castiel says, his voice a needle in the balloon of silence enveloping them. Jealousy, annoyance, pity, hatred— every single vile feeling inside Dean rises up in his throat, as he stares at Castiel's gorgeous face, still glowing, even when the man seems like he's going to fall flat on his face.

"What do you want?" Dean asks, malice and disgust in his voice.

"I need you."

"Oh, now you do?" Dean laughs, a cynical, emotionless laugh as he walks into his apartment, grabbing a bottle of water for Castiel, "-why, that guy you hangin' out with this evening not good enough?"

"Fuck him," Castiel grits out, and steps closer to Dean, gripping his wrist and tugging him until he turns to face Castiel.

"I was wrong." Castiel starts, his fingers grazing Dean's pulse. Either Dean is mistaken or a sheen of tears glazes over Castiel's deep cerulean eyes. "I can't do this. I can't do the dating thing. It doesn't work on me. I tried, Dean, trust me, I tried. I tried to go out with people, I tried to limit myself, to act like I loved the flowers and the chocolates and the goodbye-cheek-kisses. But I can't do this. That's not me."

A sliver of hope rises in the back of Dean's chest as he glances up to meet Castiel's eyes. Does Castiel want him back? Does he... does he want to be with Dean again? _What does he want to say?_

"Then what are you?" Dean asks, stepping closer as the gap between their faces diminishes by an inch. His hand slides up Castiel's waist, reaching to grip his hips to stable himself before he loses his senses within the abyss of Castiel's presence.

"I am what you see each night we spend together. The cigarettes, the sex, the stupid ramen packets we cook afterwards, the trashy rock music you play that blares through the apartment, the shitty eggs I make you each morning– that's me. The real me. It's what I am. The roses and the flowers, I thought that could be me. I thought I could be someone who enjoyed that, but truth is, I don't and I can't. You are what I need, Dean."

Tears sting Dean's eyes as he leans in, stunned by Castiel's confession, and yet, watching a tear roll down Castiel's face, watching his lips tremble, feeling his hands squeeze Dean as if he'd vanish, he can't help but want to pull Castiel close, to keep him buried in his arms and never let go.

"So what you're saying is you tried to be a good person, only to find out that you were a shitty person, and that you wanted to stay a shitty person _with me_?" Dean asks, a slight hint of mischief lacing his words, but Castiel nods so sincerely, it tugs at something inside Dean.

"I'm sorry for pushing you away, Dean. I didn't—"

"Hey, it's okay, Cas, we all make mistakes, baby."

Castiel grabs Dean by the shoulders, rising up on his toes as he presses his lips to Dean's, only to pull away in an instant.

"I can't sleep until I feel your touch." He murmurs, sliding his hands down Dean's bare chest, grazing his delicate pink nipples, before pushing him blindly towards the bedroom, the path to which Dean is sure Castiel has memorised by now.

"Neither can I, sweetheart."

Between kisses and gropes and fondles and strokes, they end up in the bedroom, Castiel's shirt lying somewhere on the floor as he backs Dean against the bed.

"Need you, Dean, you're the only one I need, only one who understands what I want."

Dean groans, landing back on the bed, watching as Castiel unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down, his aroused cock bulging through the fabric of his dark, grey briefs.

Blue and red neon lights filter in through the window, the only illumination in the pitch-black room, as Castiel settles between Dean's legs, straddling his hips as he slides his arms around Dean's neck, grinding their erections together. Dean's hands wrap around Castiel's waist, pulling him in to keep him steady in his lap, as they kiss— _deep, wet, hot_ — tongues sliding, spit drooling down Dean's lips, teeth nipping and nibbling— a fiery passion laces their kisses. Before, their touches had been greedy, selfish, and sinful— but these, they feel bonded, more holy than anything Dean has ever felt, and a wave of incredulity overcomes him as he rocks on the bed, Castiel in his arms, pliant and giving.

"I need you to reach inside me, Dean, so deep, I can't tell myself apart from you," Castiel whispers, and the notion itself sends a shiver running down Dean's spine. Without another thought, he stands, hauling Castiel up with him, before turning around and laying him down on the bed as gentle as a rosebud. Their lips never part, tongues gliding and licking at each inch of their joint mouths. Castiel's body is warm and needy under him, and all Dean can comprehend is the taste of Castiel's lips, all-consuming and entrancing.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, you never think about anyone else again. _Never_."

Dean parts from Castiel, only to reach over to the drawer beside his bed for a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms. Upon the sight of the condom however, Castiel rises, his spread legs framing his face perfectly between them.

"Don't use it—" He says, panting for breath as he flicks the condom away, "-take me without it. We've already been tested. Please, just, I need to feel you, only you inside me."

"God, you're perfect," Dean groans, and grabs the hem of Castiel's briefs, neglecting his own aching cock trapped in the confines of his boxers, as he kneels down between Castiel's wide, open legs, and slides his grey briefs off. Castiel's cock bobs against his stomach, leaving a bead of pre-come under his navel, and Dean takes the length into his mouth, the skin warm and musky, the bead of come salty, as he licks around the tip, grabbing the side of Castiel's hips as he sucks his cock into his mouth. Dean licks around the length, lapping up over the skin, feeling Castiel's balls tighten, feeling his cock twitch and throb inside Dean's mouth as Dean worked his lips over it.

"Dean," Castiel gasps, his fingers threading through Dean's hair and scratching the back of his head as Dean continues to suck, continues to lick and lap and lave his tongue in all the right spots— under his frenulum, over his balls, over the slit, dipping into the slit, over the underside— everywhere he knew it would push Castiel to the edge. A glance above him shows Castiel, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth digging into his lip as he grazes a hand over his chest, pinching his nipple slightly as he moans.

The sight in itself is enough for Dean to orgasm, but he holds himself back and allows himself to pleasure Castiel, the man he's now sure he loves more than anyone or anything else in the world. He reaches a hand up, twining it through Castiel's, and Castiel's eyes fly open as he gazes down at Dean, their eyes meeting. He runs a tender hand over Dean's head and smiles, even in his dazed state, and Dean can't find it in himself to ever feel hatred towards the man, cursing himself for ever pretending to hate Castiel.

Before he can say something he regrets, however, something along the lines of _never leave me again_ , or _I love you_ , he pops off Castiel's cock, leaving behind an obscene trail of spit dangling from his lip down to Castiel's cock. The string of spit vanishes as Dean grabs the bottle of lube, and clicks it open, pouring a generous amount over his fingers, watching as it drips down and lands right over Castiel's tight, quivering hole.

"Dean—"

"I got you baby, I got you," Dean repeats, over and over again, until he's sure he can't say anything else, as he rubs his lube-drenched fingers over the tiny ring of muscle. He glances up, a silent plea for consent, and Castiel answers with a breathy "-yes."

His middle finger slides in without hesitation, and the mere feel of Castiel's tight, constricted orifice has him seeing white. A strange radiance exudes off Castiel as he fists the sheets, bucking his hips and fucking himself on Dean's single finger. The heat in the air thickens as Dean surges up, hovering on all fours above Castiel, his hand still pumping a finger inside Castiel's ass, stretching his walls, feeling the heated, wet flesh pliant under his finger, trying to open him up for another finger.

Another finger slips in with no hesitation, owing to Dean's thorough ministrations, and Castiel moans, reaching over his head to grab at a pillow as he digs his nails into it, and lets out a wail.

"Dean—" He whines, "—more."

Part of Dean wants to give into Castiel's whims, to thrust in another finger, do a shoddy prep-job, like he always did before, and mindlessly slide into the tight, wet heat under him. But tonight is different. Tonight there isn't just a hole under him. Tonight there is Cas, the man he loves, writhing and squirming in pleasure under him, and part of Dean wants to go slow– wants to savour this moment as if the world would end tomorrow.

"Not tonight Cas, you mean too much to me for me to not take care of you."

With two fingers in, Dean has much more ease to open Castiel up, as he scissors his fingers, using both fingers now to study the ridges of Castiel's walls, to study the curves, to study the damp flesh, to press into it, to thrust up inside Castiel, to stretch him open, to twist his fingers, to massage his prostate— too much time, too much curiosity. Dean wants to understand Castiel tonight, not simply use him. He wants to _feel_ him, _feel_ what he really is.

The fingers inside Castiel's ass twist and turn, and with them, Castiel squirms on the bed, until at last, Dean slips in a third finger.

"Yes, god, yes," Castiel moans out, his pants filling the air; the scent of sweat and cologne tickling Dean's nostrils as he buries his face in Castiel's neck, his fingers fucking into Castiel's tight, small hole, trying to stretch it open for his cock, and although Dean knows no matter how hard he tries, Castiel's channel stays slick and tight, he wants to make an effort not only for Castiel, but for himself.

"Need another?" Dean asks, knowing already what the answer will be, but to tease Castiel. They've tried it out once– fisting. Castiel's hole had been gaping when Dean took his hand out then, and they'd managed to empty an entire bottle of lube in a single night. Of course, the image of Castiel's puffy, red, leaking wet hole, which Dean had then jerked off into, remains a memory etched into the deepest, most primal corners of Dean's mind.

"No. Give me your cock," Castiel demands, and Dean grins, unable to refuse such a tempting request as he moves back, steps of the bed, and pushes his boxers down. His cock, throbbing and stiff, springs up at once, basking under Castiel's hungry gaze. Without another moment wasted, Dean slicks his cock up with a handful of lube, and climbs onto the bed with his hand stroking his cock. He settles between Castiel's legs, pulling one over his shoulder and the other around his waist– easy for him to maneuver Castiel when he's pressed close to Dean– and leans down for a kiss.

Castiel's lips on his feel like gasoline catching fire, as they suck and lick and nip and nibble— leaving Dean in ruins before he's even started, leaving him lost in the sensation of Castiel under him, over him, around him– everywhere.

"I'm gonna' go in now, tell me if it hurts," Dean says once they part, and Castiel nods, his hands reaching up to cup Dean's jaw, their eyes never leaving, the electricity between them sizzling and spiking with each touch they leave on the other's body. At last, Dean presses his cock to Castiel's slick hole, feeling and _watching_ his hole swallow up every last inch of Dean's cock, until he's buried inside Castiel to the hilt. Castiel's eyes widen and he breathes in a staggering breath before nodding.

"Move, go on." He breathes out, and Dean complies. At once, he braces himself by digging his palms into the bed on either sides of Castiel, their faces inches away, as he rocks his hips, his cock dragging inside Castiel, the tight, damp walls around him contracting each time Dean pulls back and expanding each time he pushes in. The pace is slow at first, with Dean gradually picking up speed, gripping the sheets under him as the all-consuming sensation of having his cock buried inside a tight, warm wet channel, especially the thought of him being buried inside Castiel, is enough to lull him away into a trance, as he rocks his hips faster, in and out, in and out, pushing into each of Castiel's pleasure points, until he feels a thick ridge nudge against the tip of his cock, and his eyes snap over to Castiel.

"Oh my god," Castiel gasps, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his mouth falls open and hands clench the bedsheet next to him. Seizing the vulnerable moment Castiel is caught in, Dean dives down to press his lips over Castiel's, swallowing down the muffled moan rising at the back of Castiel's throat as his hands slap over the back of Dean's shoulders, pulling him in as he grinds up against Dean, fucking himself on Dean's cock as their lips meet in a frenzy, bodies sliding against each other.

Dean fastens his pace, hips rocking on their own accord, instincts swallowing up every coherent thought within his mind as he fucks into Castiel, holding him close, basking in the warmth between them. Castiel's thighs tremble, threatening to give out as Dean holds them in place— wide apart— to fuck his cock into the tight wet heat between Castiel's legs.

As expected, the familiar churning, tickling sensation within Dean's groin returns, and he feels every nerve in his body begin to collapse as he nears his climax, not there yet, but reaching, as the pressure builds—

"Gonna' come, Cas," He whispers, lips ghosting over Castiel's ear.

The pressure builds. And builds. And builds. And builds, until—

"Inside me. _Mark me, Dean_."

Everything seems to still around Dean for a moment as he orgasms, feeling a thick stream of come splurt out of his cock, sheathe the insides of Castiel's walls and drench the tip of his own cock. The chatter outside the window, Castiel's moans, the neon lights, the scent of sex, everything fades into white noise, only for another sensation, a wet, sticky sensation to draw him out of his trance.

Dean glances down, pleased to find Castiel has come as well, the come dripping down his stomach and over Castiel's cock. A glance above him shows Castiel, his eyes shut, lips parted, and a blank expression on his face.

"You alright?"

Castiel cracks an eye open for a moment, before meeting Dean's gaze, a drowsy smile on his face.

"Never been better."

Dean nods, proud of having made Castiel come on his cock alone, but refrains from letting his smirk show. Castiel on the other hand, pulls his legs back as he struggles to sit up, only to slump into the pillows behind him with a groan. Without a word exchanged, Dean crawls over the bed, helping Castiel lay down, dropping a soft kiss over his forehead as he brushes away the sweat on his face.

"I'm gonna' go clean us up—"

"Dean," Castiel croaks, his voice needy and pleading as he gazes up at Dean, "-stay, please?"

_With deep, round cerulean eyes peering into his own, how is Dean to refuse them?_

So, he pauses, maneuvering himself until his back is on the bed, and Castiel's head rests on his arm. Dean drapes an arm over Castiel's torso, and in the silence, he can hear nothing but the loud beating of their hearts and the sound of their breaths. Absently, Dean glances down at Castiel, whose eyes remain shut, arms holding Dean in place. Exhausted, he reaches out for the packet of cigarettes lying on the bedside table, and grabs a lighter as well, careful not to disturb Castiel, before bringing it up to his lips and lighting it. The smell however, seems to have caught Castiel's attention, as the smaller man wriggles in Dean's arms and flutters his hazy eyes open until they land upon Dean.

He holds his hand out, reminding Dean of a child with a candy, and it pulls a smile at the corner of Dean's lips as he blows out a puff smoke, before handing Castiel the cigarette. They sit in silence for a moment, and the smoke from Castiel's drag vanishes in the air right before Dean.

Before he knows what he's doing, Dean grabs Castiel's face, and presses his lips to Castiel's, swallowing down the muffled yelp from Castiel, who remains static for a moment, before wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and pulling him down until Castiel's back is laid on the bed and Dean hovers above him. The cigarette remains settled between Castiel's fingers, and yet, he manages to squeeze Dean in his arms.

Castiel tastes like smoke.

Dean swallows down every inch of his taste as he kisses him.

They never do this.

A week ago, and the weeks before, and the year ago, after sex, they'd only exchange a cigarette, not even the same, avoid each other's eyes, and Castiel would slip out of his house.

They've never done this before.

And it scares Dean, because lingering at the tip of his tongue are words he knows will mess up everything they've worked towards so far.

A few moments later, Dean pulls away, lost in the sight of Castiel's lips swollen and slick, his eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed the way they are after every kiss. The words on his tongue threaten to spill.

He wills himself to sit back, grabbing the cigarette out of Castiel's fingers and taking a long, slow drag or it.

"What is this?" Castiel asks after a pause, and Dean curses himself for not having seen it coming.

"Whatever you want it to be."

The chatter outside seems to have quietened down.

"Two fucked-up people with issues going at each night hardly makes for a relationship."

The blunt truth in Castiel's words pulls a smile at Dean's lips.

"You want a relationship that bad?" Dean asks, half amused, half curious.

"I just want to feel normal."

"I guess we're both normal in our own ways, Cas."

Castiel sighs. He turns over, resting his head on his arm as he meets Dean's eyes.

Something strange lingers between them. Castiel's eyes speak for his silence, though, and Dean knows he has things to say. Probably the same ones Dean has to say, but Dean can see he's holding himself back.

"You wanna' say it, don't you?" Dean asks, his voice low, and it seems to take Castiel aback.

"How did you know?"

"I've known you a long time now, Cas."

"And yet you're scared of me." Castiel scoffs, rolling onto his back.

"Not scared of you. Scared of what'll happen to us. Don't wanna' lose you." Dean admits, and although it takes him each ounce of courage to say it, part of him regrets saying it.

"You won't lose me."

"But this, us, it won't be the same anymore."

"And how's that bad?" Castiel asks, at last, sitting up with much effort as he gazes at Dean.

"You want more, I don't." Dean lies, hoping it sounds strong enough to pass as the truth. Something cold grows within Castiel's eyes.

"So what, you're content with using me like some kind of toy and chucking me away when you're done?"

"Ain't that what you're doing too?" Dean scoffs, but can't help the quiver in his voice.

Castiel is going to hate him for this. But right now, they can't rush into things. They can't make promises in the heat of the moment. They just can't.

At once, the bed dips, and Dean watches as Castiel sits at the edge, pausing for a moment.

"I thought you understood me. I thought for once, I had someone who needed me. Who wanted me. Who chose to be with me. Turns out you don't think of me as more than a cheap hole to fuck. You're even worse than the flower-and-chocolate guy. _Jesus Christ_."

And then, Castiel is grabbing his clothes, not sparing Dean a single glance, all the while, Dean finds it hard to breathe, hard to think straight, hard to refrain his tears.

"This ends here." Castiel says, before walking out the bedroom. A minute later Dean hears the front door slam shut.

A bitter laugh rises at the back of his throat. He wants to chase after Castiel, wants to let him know how much he needs him, how he's everything Dean needs and ever will. How he's the only thing Dean can hold onto when his life is shaken once again with the ghosts of his past.

_"I can't sleep until I feel your touch."_

But it's alright. 

Because Castiel will come back the night after. No matter how hard he tries to distance himself from Dean, he will end up back at his doorstep.

Like he always does.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes you may sue me :) I'm thinking of writing a follow up but I'm not sure I think the ambiguity is completion in itself like from an author pov


End file.
